Happily Ever After
by magiclaud
Summary: USUK. Arthur and Alfred are the stars of a famous tv show, although they despise each other in life. However, as spring approaches, as well as the show's finale, they learn that life and fiction might not be so different at all. Fanfiction for the #usukustwiceperyear event.


Beautiful, rosy colours joined the sky while the sun started to go down. A couple of birds passed by, immersed on their own adventure while an Englishman stood in front of the school's yard. Arthur Kirkland was sitting down, his hair so dishevelled some locks covered his green eyes. He was wearing a brown vest, khaki trousers, and the green tie he usually wore. His slender shoulders held low, as well as his upper body, while Arthur's legs were crossed and his gaze focused on a small group of ants scavenging through the park.

A sound seemed to disturb the blond man. His face tilted, and he immediately stood up as his long-time friend approached him with careful eyes. Arthur frowned as he regarded him, as if he was a deer noticing for the first time the headlights.

"What—What are you doing here?" Arthur stuttered. Alfred Jones took a step closer, and Arthur faced him fully. Only then, Alfred had the chance to look at the tears that roamed through Arthur's chin.

"Have you been crying?" As always, Alfred was soft and kind, and his mere voice appeared to soothe Arthur, even though he didn't respond. "You can talk to me about it. I want to know if something's troubling you."

Arthur looked at Alfred's bright blue eyes, so close to him he held back a sob. He crossed his arms, stepping an inch away from the other. "I… I couldn't do it," Arthur took a deep breath, chewing his lower lip. "I couldn't confront my father and Miguel dumped me. There he was, the sweetest lover one could ever dream of… and yet I was stupid enough to let him go. God, I'm such a coward."

"Don't say that. You know I hate it when you put yourself down," Alfred grasped Arthur's hand. Arthur looked at him with confusion and Alfred spoke again. "Maybe, just… Miguel wasn't the right person for you," with his words, he gently took Arthur's other hand. Arthur looked at them with curiosity, and then he kept talking.

"I don't think there's a problem with others. The— The issue must be mine, really. Fate can't be this tricky," despite the quietness of his voice, Alfred kept listening. He was giving him this sympathetic smile, brushing Arthur's hair away from his face in a comforting motion.

"Maybe fate just likes to play with us," Alfred intertwined their fingers then. Arthur stared at him, at them, until realization dawned him. His eyes seemed bigger, and his breath contracted, as if he was only aware of Alfred's closeness now.

"Is… Is this some sort of joke?"

Alfred leaned closer, so close their noses almost touched.

"If it wasn't, what would you say?" his thumb trailed down to touch Arthur's lips. "What if— what if we were simply blind to fate's signals?" he looked at Arthur's eyes, at the drying tears, at the freckles on his nose, until he finished by resting his look at Arthur's lips. "I… I think I wasn't able to see the truth about it because of the friendship we held, but Allan… I want us to have a chance," his thumb caressed Arthur's lips once again, silently asking for his permission as he closed the distance between them, savouring the softness of the Englishman.

The response was sudden. They deepened their kiss, painfully aware of all the emotion conveyed in a simple gesture. When they parted, he grasped Arthur's shoulders, while the other stared at him.

"Listen, I… I know we are not in love yet. But I just— I really think we could be happy together. And I know they'll be problems —Miguel, your father, the future—, but I believe we will be able to get through whatever gets in our way. I mean, you've always been my partner in crime, right?" he joked, then paused for a moment. "What do you say? Do you think maybe you can —you can accept me?" Arthur gulped, locking his eyes on Alfred's face for maddening seconds. And then, he nodded.

"CUT!" a voice on the backstage commanded. The actors parted, both returning to their respective comfort zones. "Everyone, two minutes of break and then we'll repeat the scene, all right? The sunset doesn't wait. Alfred, wipe his tears away after the kiss next time, okay?" said George, the director. He rubbed his hand through the starting of his forehead. "Arthur, try to moist your lips before it, as in anticipation, you know what I mean?"

"Cool, now I'll have limey's spit all over my lips," Alfred murmured. One of the actors —Francis was his name— laughed, and Arthur scowled at him, his former innocent expression transformed in an ugly frown.

"I'm not comfortable with it either, you know. Knowing your history, I'm estranged you didn't give me mononucleosis yet."

"Well, that's a nice way to introduce you to sexuality. Isn't it, Artie?" Arthur was turning shades of red. Alfred smirked. He jogged over the backstage to grab his backpack when he felt someone poke his shoulder.

"Al, you were great!" his brother, Matthew, said. Despite working in a different field, Matthew often found time to greet his brother on set. George didn't appear to think very much of it, and Matthew was a calm guy, so most of the crew didn't even notice him whatsoever. Someone else stalked their way next to him.

"Indeed he was," said Francis, casually mispronouncing his words. Even though he was French, Alfred suspected he had a tendency of exaggerating his accent in order to appeal the audience. He had a sly grin on his face, and Alfred turned to him confused.

Alfred blinked at him.

"Oh, you mean the scene? Yeah, well, but I guess it wasn't that good if we have to repeat it."

"Don't be childish," Matthew said. "You know George only says that because he wants everything to be perfect at the season finale of 'The Allies'."

"Not only the end of the season, cher, but the end of six years of the most popular teen show of America. It's only normal he'd be a little picky," Francis said. "Especially with the love confession of our favourite stars," he purred.

Alfred sighed. It was strange, and he could deny it as much as he wanted to, but, despite their dislike for each other, Arthur and he had a strange kind of chemistry on stage. Fans had noticed that, too, and there didn't seem to be doubts one of the reasons the show was as popular was because of Alfred, Arthur and the bond of platonic love their roles had professed during the development of the seasons.

"Come on, don't tell me you won't miss the show once it's over," Francis teased him. Alfred did not flinch.

"Nah. It was cool, but everything comes to an end. Besides, now I can finally relax a little bit," he sighed again. "These last months have been intense."

Alfred rubbed his temples. Indeed, this last season had required more work than its antecessors, especially as the plot had evolved into more complex terms. Jack, Alfred's character, had been experiencing through the season a new romantic interest in Allan, his best friend, interpreted by Arthur. However, unaware of Jack's feelings, Allan starts a romance with Miguel, a former worker of his father's company. Even though Miguel had started their relationship with the goal of using Allan to take revenge on Allan's father, their characters end up developing an intense romance, reaching its peak when Miguel asks Allan to run away with him.

But then, as Allan's father finds out about their relationship, an intense monologue takes place in which Allan's father asks him if he wanted to leave his dream life for a stranger, and Allan is tempted. But then, as Miguel finds out about Allan's doubts, he decides to dump him. Jack, on the other hand, witnesses it all and chooses to be brave and take his chance with Allan.

And that was it. The scene everyone was waiting for, the consummation of Allan and Jack's lover after all those years of friendship and admiration. The starting of the happy ending everyone wanted and dreamt of.

Alfred turned when he heard the director telling them the break was over. He took a deep breath. Arthur was already in position, putting his eye drops to pretend the crying while a particularly cold breeze surrounded them. Alfred cursed lightly as the pollen entered his nostrils and he sneezed, and then took a deep breath, focusing on his role again.

"Come on, everyone! Lights, camera… action!"

When Alfred arrived home he found a note from Matthew, who explained he had to leave earlier as his boss had requested his presence about an urgency in the office. Contrary to Alfred, Matthew had a more conventional job. He worked in the finance department of a publishing house as one of the manager's assistants. It was a fairly important job, even though Matthew's dedication never appeared to be noticed by the head of the department.

Alfred shrugged, preparing a bowl of cereals while sitting on his couch. Their flat was large, and had a great view of the elegancy of L.A and the tranquil beach.

Once he finished his meal, Alfred lied on the sofa for a few minutes, tired. The long hours on set always were an incredible pain in the ass, and outdoor scenes at that time of the year seemed to mess with his allergy even more. And, of course, the look the almighty Arthur Kirkland gave him every time he missed a sentence didn't help to ease his discomfort at all.

He didn't know exactly how everything turned out to be that way. Alfred surely remembered how, on the first day of recording, he acted as friendly as possible with everyone on set, including Arthur. It didn't take much effort, as he had always considered himself a social creature. However, one day, Alfred happened to joke about Arthur's eyebrows, causing the Englishman to insult his manners on the table, and his 'ridiculous cowlick'. Alfred remembered how he replied by making fun of Arthur's accent, causing the other to grab him by the collar of his shirt and shake him until a few actors had to separate them. Since then, they had loathed each other, and despite they didn't pick up physical fights anymore, insults and mockery had made their way through their few interactions.

Although Alfred couldn't help but be bothered by it, the situation would've been so much more unbearable if it weren't for the friends he managed to make on set. Apart from Matthew (and Francis, who seemed content with every possible decision that pissed off Arthur), there were Yao and Ivan, who played two members of the dorky group of friends the show was focused on. He also was friends with Antonio, the actor that played Miguel, and he wasted no time on pitying him from the moment he found out the Spaniard was going to be the new love interest of Allan.

Arthur, on the other hand, appeared to make his way around solitude. Even though he behaved politely with most of the cast, he never seemed interested enough in joining the crowd unless it was strictly necessary. And, while Antonio said that Arthur probably was simply an introvert, Alfred's views on the topic were much different. To him, Arthur Kirkland was an actor with a holier-than-thou complex, silently judging everyone who crossed his path. Arthur Kirkland was the type of person to remain quiet during an intimate conversation and excuse himself as fast as possible, without being able to conceal very well the fact that he couldn't care less about anyone else.

And that's why he loathed Kirkland. That's why he never minded openly expressing his disgust towards Arthur's actions, and why he'd even rejected going to one of the National Teen Show Awards ceremony when he found out he had been nominated with Arthur as, "the best young co-stars". They had won though, and seeing Arthur Kirkland's embarrassed face when he had to go all alone pick the award and telling a poor excuse for Alfred's absence had been hilarious.

A sound coming from his phone awakened him from his reminiscing state. He picked the gadget, and found a message from Toris, his agent, telling him he'd just received the script for the last episode of 'The Allies', and that he had sent it to Alfred's e-mail address. He replied quickly and walked over where his computer was. Alfred knew that, as it was the last episode of the series, he'd probably have a lot of sentences, so he figured the soon he could take a look at them, the better. Also, the fact that those sentences certainly would contain some lovey-dovey cheesy parts directed to Arthur's character required an extra amount of time for him to get used to the idea (and not to exclaim his plain disgust on set, as he'd done the first time their little 'romance' started). Nevertheless, when he finally managed to open the document, he couldn't help to quickly scroll the lines as a cold shock invaded his body.

It wasn't a happy ending.

"So, this is how it ends?" Matthew examined the now printed script. He looked at it with care and then turned to Alfred. Alfred nodded. "Wow, how strange. I thought Allan and Jack were going to end up together…"

"Yeah, everyone thought that!" Alfred got up from the couch. Alfred roamed his hands through his blond hair, and walked over the living room. "They were— they were endgame! What the fuck, man? Who wrote this script?"

"Maybe they wanted to surprise the audience…" Matthew said. Alfred snorted.

"Yeah, by bringing back Jack's crush from season one, Michelle. Seriously? Why the hell would they spend two entire seasons exploring Jack's sexuality if he's gonna turn out straight anyway?"

"Bisexual," Matthew corrected quietly. Alfred sighed.

"Whatever. Man, this doesn't make sense. And what's with Allan getting together with Miguel? What's teaching teens, anyway? That it's okay to leave your friends and family for a guy you met twelve episodes ago?" Alfred walked over again, this time to the kitchen. He was hungry. The kitchen was open, and Alfred saw his brother smile from the corner of his eyes. He glared at Matthew. "Don't laugh at me! It's not funny!"

"Sorry, sorry," Matthew loosened his blue tie. It had been a gift from their parents, but Matthew always wore it when he went to work. "It feels kind of strange. I mean, you've always complained about Arthur and your romance with him through the series…"

"I complain about the actor, not the character!" Alfred protested. "Arthur is a dick, but Allan… Allan is sweet and faithful and caring. He deserves happiness. And he deserves someone who treats him right, just like Jack would."

"Alfred, they're fictional characters. And you're an actor. They pay you to act, not to think. Look at the bright side of it! You don't have to kiss Arthur anymore, and you'll get to make out with that stunning Ukranian model that played Michelle!" Alfred chewed his lip. He felt sorry his brother had to cheer him up, but he simply couldn't understand what had happened to the plot. He told Matthew to order a pizza (he couldn't care about calories right now) and went to the bathroom. Alfred had a hot shower and decided to exfoliate his face. When he finished, Alfred put on his white bathrobe and went into his room. He found out the window was open and proceeded to close it, but to no avail. Soon enough, those little bastards had entered their way through his room, and the only thing Alfred could do about it was to grab tissues before he started sneezing.

God, he hated spring.

After he talked to Toris, Alfred tried to let it go. He didn't want to think about it too much, but every time he bumped with a fan in the way to the set he felt this sick feeling taking over his stomach. He tried to convince himself it was merely the allergy pills Alfred had taken that day, but something about it reminded him of how he felt every time he did something wrong as a kid.

And certainly, finding Arthur in the dressing room didn't help at all.

They had shared the space since the first season, but Alfred almost never saw Arthur in there. It was probably due to Arthur's habit of arriving half an hour earlier everywhere he went (Alfred had found that out the day he'd have to go to a convention of 'The Allies', and saw Arthur already signing t-shirts there) or his mania of doing his makeup himself (Arthur had denied repetitively clumping his eyebrows, although nobody commented on it anymore as it had turned out to be Allan's identity sign). But this time, this time he was there, and had noticed him staring.

Alfred felt a knot in his throat. He wanted to say something, but no words came out. Arthur eyed him for an instant until Alfred took a step forward to his boudoir.

"Good morning," Alfred managed to say. Arthur's lips formed a thin line, although he ended up replying.

"'Morning," Alfred saw him focusing on his phone for a second, but then Arthur seemed to relax again. "Have you read the script?"

Alfred stared at him.

"We _do_ have to record today. It'll be weird if I haven't read it at least one time."

"Well, I don't know. George said he wanted to film most action scenes today. A-And you always like to improvise on those," The tension between both actors was palpable. Arthur cleared his throat. "It was utterly… unique. The ending, I mean, what do you thought about it? " Alfred shrugged.

"Frankly, I've always thought Jack deserved better than a pushy daddy-boy," he smirked as he saw Arthur Kirkland furrow his eyebrows.

"Yes? Well, I think Allan deserved better than some Yankee with teenage angst," Alfred laughed at him.

"Yankee? Come on, man! You can't use that as an offensive term. We accepted that name centuries ago. There's even a song about it, too."

"You know? Whatever. I'm going to try to have some breakfast before the recording starts," Arthur walked in front of him, not even bothering to look at Alfred. The American, however, still had a mock grin on his face.

"I didn't ask," he joked. Arthur closed the door loudly, and Alfred just giggled more.

Arthur Kirkland surely knew how to act like a little kid sometimes.

The rest of the day was quite normal. However, something appeared to be bugging Alfred all the way home. Arthur had asked him about the ending. When had Arthur ever asked his opinion about anything at all? Never. Never once in six years.

And yet, he had done it today, and he seemed curious about Alfred's point of view of the matter. Why was that? After twenty minutes of worries through his way home, Alfred came to the conclusion that he wasn't in the mood for finding an answer to that. Instead, once he had some free time at his house, he decided to look at his phone.

He smiled as he looked at the large quantity of messages he received from fans, hyped with the season finale. His wistful aura reached its peak when one of the users, Mrs_Jallan93, tweeted his photo from the second half of season 2. There were Arthur and him, sitting in the front yard of a church. Alfred remembered the scene. It was the funeral of Allan's mother, that died in the fire the enemies of his father's company had set on the mansion the three of them lived in. Alfred zoomed the picture, focusing it on Arthur's bright green eyes, in the edge of crying. Boy, did that guy make one hell of an actor.

Before he knew what he was doing, he'd already searched some clips from the earlier seasons of the show. Alfred wanted to die of shame, as he could easily point out all the flaws of the acting of that young American boy with expectations as big as impulsiveness. Alfred also laughed loudly at Arthur's view. The hair of the Englishman was a lot longer than it was now. His accent was different, too. Alfred figured it was due to Arthur's short time in America at that time. As Alfred watched the episodes, he started to feel alien towards his character on scene, and decided to enjoy the show as if he were just another spectator. God, Jack and Allan had so much chemistry since then. Even when Alfred's character was supposed to be dating Michelle, some kind of bond appeared to be uniting both of the young stars.

That day, Alfred wondered if he didn't regret not getting to know Arthur better. If, maybe, he didn't regret never finding an answer to the doubt that started to invade him. Was there anything at all hidden behind that fantastic performance?

Alfred found Arthur the next day in the dressing room, too. Arthur was fixing his hair with styling gel, as he always did when Allan was supposed to be on one of his father's company dinners. Alfred smiled and Arthur looked at him through the mirror.

"Your brother was looking for you earlier," Arthur said. Alfred nodded.

"Yeah, he found me," Matthew had gone to tell him he'd forgotten his keys in the bowl at the living room. Alfred frowned after a realization occurred to him. "Do you know who he is?"

"Of course. He's been accompanying you since more time than our cameraman. Besides, he's a remarkably polite boy, how could I not notice him?"

Alfred shrugged. He became uncomfortable. "Most people don't pay attention to him," he said, and Arthur hummed thoughtfully.

"Well, then I guess most people are idiots," Arthur said. Then, he got up and left, exchanging some good byes with Alfred. The American stared at the door, startled.

Arthur had been nice. Arthur had actually said something nice to him, in a friendly manner. And he had noticed his brother. How many people had done that over the years? Too little. Even Francis, drowned over his own self-centered persona had confused the siblings some times.

But not Arthur.

Alfred wondered if he'd finally gone berserk. Other than that, he hadn't got any excuse for his behaviour. And he certainly didn't have any excuse for what he was doing right now.

It had started all too casually. Alfred had entered on one of his accounts of social media and he'd found out he had been tagged by the official account of 'The Allies', along with the other members of the cast.

That much said, he hadn't wasted even two seconds on click Arthur's account, and start scrolling down to the Brit's profile. It wasn't as if Alfred didn't know the other had Twitter, oh no. They even followed each other, mostly because of the fear some fans would find out the truth about their relationship. But Alfred had never looked so deep at Arthur's blog, and he even wondered why was he doing it now. He decided it didn't matter, and began to entertain himself with it. And, even though he wanted to feel insulted by some of Arthur's jokes mocking Americans, he heard himself laughing at them instead.

Alfred finally became aware of the time passed when he heard Matthew asking him what did he want for dinner, and closed the windows of his computer instinctively. When Matthew asked, he merely replied that it was nothing Matthew should care, earning a comment about how, as they didn't leave with their parents anymore, Alfred didn't have to hide if he was looking at porn. Alfred wanted to protest, but decided to let it be.

Porn would make far more sense than whatever he was doing right now, anyway.

The last Wednesday of recording became the day Alfred Jones arrived the earliest on set on the past six years.

He had to, if he was sure of doing what he had thought all night. Besides, he knew that, if Francis saw what he was doing, Alfred wouldn't be able to live in peace any more time.

When he finally walked to George's table, he saw the director typing fast while talking to himself. He surely was busy, but Alfred knew he wouldn't have any other chance to do it, so he just held a big breath and took a step forward.

"Good morning, George," he said.

George turned to face him completely. "Alfred, boy. Do you want something?"

"Well, yeah. Kind of, I mean," Alfred stuttered. Despite his careless appearance, Alfred didn't like being a bother. He shook his head. No. He had to do it. Alfred knew already he would regret it if he didn't.

"I wanted to talk about the ending of the last episode," Alfred started, but George interrupted him.

"Oh, no. Not again! What, have you two teamed up against the script writer or something?" he asked. Alfred wanted to answer, but George didn't let him. "Look, Alfred, I know you care about this show, but listen to me: that ending is best for everyone. I already told Arthur I wasn't going to change my opinion."

Alfred opened his mouth to reply, but something stopped him. Arthur —did Arthur talk to George about the ending? I couldn't be, oh no, it couldn't be. Arthur hated his guts, why the hell would he do something like that? Maybe George confused his name with someone else's, or was talking about another Arthur on the set. But it couldn't be what he thought.

George had made a mistake. Yes, it was the only reliable possibility. Alfred kept repeating this thought until another voice joined the conversation.

"Well, maybe you will now," Arthur walked at a regular pace, stopping right next to Alfred. Arthur clicked his tongue. "You see, I talked to Scott, our former scriptwriter —and he happened to tell me that since the original pilot the discussed ending had been the development of our favorite love story. In addition, fans have already expressed their good opinion about Allan and Jack as an item, so I couldn't think of a good reason why they shouldn't end up together," he paused. "Unless the pressures from a certain lobby had got to you and you were afraid some channels wouldn't agree with two men having a happily ever after."

George closed his eyes. He gritted his teeth like an animal while he stood up, mirroring Arthur's poise.

"They've already given me a red flag. This is a business, boys; maybe it's too hard for you to understand," Arthur didn't seem to be taken aback. Instead, he took a step closer to the director. He held so much confidence Alfred couldn't believe why anyone hadn't exploited that side of Arthur into the show.

"I think it's you who doesn't understand," he spoke as if he was trying to moderate his tone. "That's censorship. And the cast of the show happens to be fairly popular on their social network. If we tell them the truth about the ending, everyone will fire shots against those homophobic prats. And the repercussion will only benefit us furthermore. In all honesty, given the circumstances, I'm positive they'll change their mind, even though the other option seems utterly tempting."

George and Alfred stared at Arthur, both with an equal expression of disbelief. George coughed.

"They'll claim it's fake," he whispered. Arthur raised his eyebrows.

"What does it matter? By the time they'll do that the news would already be spread. And I think you are underestimating the power of angry fans."

George stood in silence. He looked at both actors now, and Alfred started to feel uneasy. However, he couldn't bring himself to leave Arthur alone in this, so he kept his gaze as harsh as he could.

"You win. Either way, I'm having a long vacation after it all ends. Might as well do the right thing before," For the first time since the conversation started, George seemed to relax. "I'll tell my secretary to call the actors and tell them we can't film today. You… just go home, and don't bother me more than you already did," the director excused himself telling them he was going to get coffee. As he left the room, Alfred turned to Arthur.

"What?" Arthur hissed, somewhat embarrassed. Alfred smiled brightly.

"You're… You're amazing, dude! Was everything true? Well, it —it doesn't matter. God, you're, like, the hero of the show. I mean, on screen _I am_ the hero because, you know, I'm the protagonist and all, but…" he forced himself to stop for a second, and think before talking. "I… I didn't know you wanted to change the ending too."

"Neither did I. I guess communication isn't one of our best points," Arthur joked. Alfred laughed, somewhat hysterically. His eyes collided with Arthur's. Alfred shuddered. When had they turned so bright? If he looked closer, he knew he would see his own reflection. "Besides, they… they did deserve a happy ending."

"Huh?"

"Jack and Allan. They're a huge mess. They'll need each other to pass through everything."

"Oh. Yeah," Alfred was startled. He wondered how he could get lost on something as trivial as the Englishman's eyes so easily. Alfred gulped. What was he supposed to do now? He was an actor, he had gone on dates and he surely had done scenes with Arthur with more intimacy than that. But he couldn't help it. It all felt so alien.

Alfred drank a glass of punch while the light of the disco ball lightened his face. His ears were buzzing because of the music and he felt sweaty. He sighed loudly, and heard a sarcastic giggle beside him. Alfred instantly raised his look, to be welcomed by the sight of his favourite Englishman. Alfred stared at him in surprise.

"Allan," he murmured. The other smiled tenderly. Alfred frowned. "I… I thought you and Miguel…"

"I guess you don't know me at all then," Arthur answered, playfully. He eyed Alfred's drink. "Care for a dance?"

A smile appeared on Alfred's features. He took Arthur's hand and guided him to the court. Next to them, Francis seemed to be dancing with a stunning brunette. Arthur eyed them with friendliness.

"I guess some things never change," he said. Alfred smiled again, and they started to dance. After a few seconds, Arthur placed his head on Alfred's shoulder. "You were never my second choice. You do know that, right?"

"Yes. I know it, Allan, I just… I've never felt anything like this for someone before. And I can't help but feel I'll never be good enough for you," Alfred said, without looking at Arthur's eyes. Alfred felt a hand caress his cheek, and he leaned towards the touch.

"You said it before, didn't you? It'll take time… But I'm willing to fight for us. Yes, I loved Miguel. I really loved him. But I was never his for loving. I was yours, Jack. And I'll always be yours. You're my true love," Arthur breathed harshly on the last sentence, causing Alfred to pull him closer into a tender kiss. They continued dancing, until they were broken apart by a sudden sneeze.

"What the hell, Jones?" said George. Alfred made an apologetic gesture.

"I forgot to take my pills," he said. George seemed to want to yell at him, but he just let out a harsh breath.

"Come on, let's repeat the last scene. Everyone to their original positions."

And they repeated the scene. Over and over again. And Alfred, even though he excused himself every time, knew deep down it wasn't his allergy at all. And Arthur, despite his annoyed comments, always gave Alfred a slightly amused grin before returning to character.

Alfred examined his reflection on one of the many mirrors George possessed on his rather big mansion. The director had offered his house for the post-production party, even though he was probably now sulking on his bed, trying to gain some sleep after the long hours of recording the finale. Alfred didn't blame him: the actor himself was reasonably debating whether or not it would be appropriate to leave and go to his house now. Alfred knew; however, he couldn't even think about it until he'd given his goodbyes to the cast and members of the backstage.

Monique, one of the makeup artists, greeted him then. Alfred copied the gesture and, after some chit chat, he excused himself. She hugged him before he left and gave Alfred his number. Amber, one of the extras, did the same thing afterwards. And when Candace was already writing her number on Alfred's hand he finally told them he was tired and wanted to go home and have some sleep. They understood his words, even though some of them curved their lips in a suggestive smirk.

It was just then when Alfred distinguished a figure between all the fancy mob. Alfred smirked to himself. The gentleman extraordinaire didn't seem to fit in such an extravagant party. The Englishman was standing next to a column with a drink, alone. Arthur ran looked up then, finding Alfred's gaze. Despite being caught into staring, Alfred didn't want to seem embarrassed and tried to save the situation by walking into the corner with his co-star.

"Wouldn't want you wasting your time to brag to people about your amazing acting skills with me," Arthur said.

Alfred laughed. "So, you're admitting I have amazing acting skills?" he laughed even harder when Arthur huffed in response. "Have you seen Francis? We arrived to the party together, but he sort of disappeared then."

"Is that a bad thing?" Arthur asked, genuinely serious. Alfred laughed as if it was a joke. "He just told me he was going to have a ' _mènage a trois'_ with two extras. Why do you care?"

"Hm? Oh, nothing. I guess I just wanted to say goodbye to everyone before the party is over. You know, it's been six years, seeing each other every day. Who knows what we'll be doing next?"

"Well, I heard Antonio was going to be the main character of a soap opera. Corazón Prohibido or something," Alfred chuckled at Arthur's attempt to pronounce Spanish words. Arthur scowled at him, and something seemed to snap out of the Brit. "What is it with you? We've been hating each other since we were kids, why do you suddenly act as if I'm your friend or something?" Alfred was startled at the outburst. For once, Alfred Jones was at a loss of words.

"I've never hated you," Alfred murmured. Arthur snorted. "I'm gonna get some champagne. Want a drink?"

Arthur seemed to think about it, and finally nodded.

"And a chaser," he added. They drank some more, avoiding other celebrities until Arthur told Alfred they could avoid getting annoyed if they went upstairs to the tea room. Alfred nodded, estranged by the fact George's house had a tea room.

"I like it," Arthur replied. "I think it's elegant."

Once there, they finished the bottle of rum Arthur had brought from the living room, and they returned to their conversation about the other cast's plans, staring absently at the flowery pattern of the room.

"And Francis told me _, 'I will have my own spin-off because my character was rated favourite after the fag friends'._ Fag friends! What the hell, man?" Arthur snapped, though he laughed at the last part. Alfred lied on the sofa, staring at the view. Then, he heard Arthur sigh for a second. He sat there too.

"I will be returning to England. I've been cast as a character of this new show from the BBC. It airs next spring," he commented, in a neutral tone. Alfred frowned and sat straight in a rapid manner.

"What?"

"You heard me," Arthur joked, although his face was serious. "Apparently, I'm a wing commander from World War II that starts seeing fairies once he's captured by Germans."

Alfred laughed. "Sounds like the role of your life."

Arthur laughed, too. "Glad you think so," he added, again in a serious tone. Alfred shifted near Arthur, who seemed oblivious to the action.

"When are you leaving?" Alfred whispered, once he was only a few inches away from the other's ear. Arthur, however, did not jump at the voice. He only shrugged, taking another sip of his drink.

"Elizabeth said I'd have to as soon as the footage finished. Technically, I wasn't even supposed to come to this party," Arthur whispered too, even though there was nobody else in the room. Alfred's arm surrounded Arthur's shoulders, squeezing them.

"Why did you come, then?" he didn't even give the other a chance to answer the question, oh no. Alfred's head bucked forward, devouring the Englishman's lips in a heated kiss. Arthur tasted like mint, his breath being sweet and spicy and so addicting Alfred couldn't hold back a moan. Without leaving his mouth, Alfred pushed Arthur through the couch until he was on top of the Englishman. Arthur's hands circled his waist as they changed angles until the kiss developed into a less abrupt stage.

When they broke their kiss, Alfred already rushed himself into kissing Arthur's earlobe, slowly diverging into his neck. Arthur was letting warm puffs of breath come from his lips when his hands motioned Alfred to move away. The American complied, enough so he could see Arthur Kirkland —his Arthur Kirkland, so messy and unbearably erotic, look at him in a way that sent shivers through Alfred's spine

"I don't do one-night stands," Arthur said. Alfred kissed his neck again, and bit lightly. His hands roamed under Arthur's purple vest and groped his chest. Alfred's head moved so he was against Arthur's rib cage, and he blew over, being rewarded once he noticed the two nubs respond at the action.

"It doesn't have to be one," he said. Arthur's hand groped his crotch, and Alfred marveled in how much he wanted it, all while silently asking himself why did it feel so good and so hot and so _right_.

"We-"Arthur had trouble forming a coherent sentence, but Alfred didn't dare to leave that pale skin yet. "We need— We need something. I— I think there's a pharmacy nearby where we can—"

"Oh," Alfred interrupted him. He gestured his pocket. "I've got those," he unzipped Arthur's trousers and licked his neck again.

"Oh my god, don't tell me you brought _condoms_ here," Arthur said. Alfred frowned.

"What's wrong with it? I always keep 'em with me."

"Really, now, are you so confident about your looks you think you need to bring them every— everywhere," Arthur stiffened in a quiet moan as Alfred's knee massaged his member.

"That's rich coming from you, Art," Alfred said. Arthur was about to respond when they kissed again, and every trace of their conversation was left behind.

And when tiredness finally took over, Alfred embraced his lover as the two sweaty bodies were caught in the arms of Morfeo, drinking the other's scent while wondering why Arthur's quiet sleep blabber didn't bother him at all.

Arthur Kirkland was leaving America.

A photography taken by a fan invaded social media faster than the rumours about the season finale's wild party. Soon enough, dozens of paparazzi were gathered at the entrance of the airport, and a sweaty Alfred Jones was running through the doors.

"Arthur!"

As one of the security guards recognized him, Alfred was able to get closer to the British actor, who remained oblivious to him. "Arthur Kirkland!"

Finally, the Englishman turned. Then, he stared and mouthed the other's name as Alfred got closer to him.

"Hey," said Alfred. He decided to stare while he stabilized his breathing. "You… You didn't say good bye."

Arthur wrinkled his nose. "I… I didn't think it would be appropriate. You were sleeping so peacefully and I don't. It's just that —that I didn't— I thought— I thought you didn't care," Arthur said, ashamed of his clumsy words. Alfred wondered if he was the reason of it, and a smile crept through his face. "Besides, I… I ought to go to England. A-And my personal feelings won't interfere with my work schedule, I won't allow it. And God, you love America, it'll be selfish to ask you to give up your life here for something so silly. But something like a distance relationship won't work either. I mean, you're such a playboy, and we've just finished 'The Allies', I'm sure you'll have tons of fans revolving around you like fucking flies and—" he didn't get to finish his sentence, as Alfred did a strange thing. The American gripped Arthur by the collar of his shirt, and their lips collided. When they parted, Arthur turned around, and stared at Alfred, sceptic.

"People will talk about this," Arthur whispered. He turned to the direction the paparazzi were settled.

Alfred just flashed him a grin. "Let them talk. Besides, now they'll know the playboy's taken."

Arthur's mouth curved into a shy smile after Alfred kissed him again. Arthur's arms wrapped around Alfred's neck, and their fronts touched. Arthur laughed and began nuzzling Alfred's neck.

"God, you're going to break my heart, aren't you?" Alfred pecked his cheek. The Englishman's skin was redder than his, and Alfred couldn't help but admire the contrast.

"Your cheeks are as red as a rose," Alfred murmured. "If we have a couple of minutes before you leave, I can buy you one."

"But weren't you allergic?" Arthur snorted and Alfred clicked his tongue.

"Oh, silly, I'm talking about a plastic one. Those may last forever, like my love for you."

"You're so corny," said Arthur, although his smile told Alfred he seemed pleased by the idea.

"Well, one would think that after all those years on screen, I'd know a little bit about romance," Alfred smirked. He grabbed Arthur's hand. "Come on, Kirkland, let's pick our flower," he started running, and Arthur followed him. They ran until they couldn't see anyone anymore, and they bought their flower. As they announced Arthur's plane, they parted their ways, and Alfred couldn't help but notice the sun rising through the window, in those beautiful pink colours. He watched as the plane took off, watched as his new boyfriend flew over the cotton clouds, and that made him imagine of the day he would take Arthur to a state fair, of how they would share a sweet cotton candy under the stars.

«Gosh, when did I become so corny? » Alfred Jones thought.

Well, spring was said to be the season of growth, so maybe romance had gone over Alfred's head too much. And, for the first time in his nineteen years, Alfred was excited about learning to love.


End file.
